


Sunrise

by IperOuranos



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:27:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24369598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IperOuranos/pseuds/IperOuranos
Summary: They got back Lisboa. They lost Nairobi. They're wounded and broken inside and not a single one of them is doing more than just their best to hang in there. There's hurt and lost and a lot of that hurt is Martín's fault.It's late at night and everything is silent and for the first time in months, that whisper in his ears is strong again, making their voice being heard." It's your fault because you're broken. You can't possibly build something if you're broken. You just destroy things. That's why no one wants to be near you. "
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	Sunrise

_« Now the night_   
_Will throw its cover down_   
_On me again_   
_Ooh, and if I'm right_   
_It's the only way_   
_To bring me back »_

It's late at night, and almost everyone is sleeping in the main hall. Well, almost everyone is pretending to sleep, at least. Martín looks at the hostages laying on the floor and wonders how many of them can really sleep for more than half an hour in a moment like that.  
He knows he can't, even if he could.

They got back Lisboa. They lost Nairobi. They're wounded and broken inside and not a single one of them is doing more than just their best to hang in there. There's hurt and lost and a lot of that hurt is Martín's fault.  
It's late at night and everything is silent and for the first time in months, that whisper in his ears is strong again, making their voice being heard.

_It's your fault because you're broken. You can't possibly build something if you're broken. You just destroy things. That's why no one wants to be near you._

And he knows, he knows all too well he has to shut that down, not listen, just shut his eyes and keep going. But he's so tired, and he fought for so long to just look away from that abyss, now it's just too much.  
Maybe, he can just allow himself a night of self pity. Drown in his own thoughts, his own pain, just stop fighting for a while and let go. No one would notice anyway. No one cares.

《 Drink this. 》

It's really not that hard to recognize Helsinki's voice. When Martín opens his eyes, he finds a glass of water held in front of him by his hand, that big man standing beside him. He looks up, tilts his head.

《 Thanks? Why are you not sleeping, I'm keeping an eye on them. The good one, don't worry. 》

He jokes, so used to try and deflect the pain away, try to make people forget about the edge in his voice, that strained sound as if he was just about to cry so hard he wouldn't have been able to breathe again. Helsinki doesn't do deflection, though. He's too honest for that. He just walks over it and looks at you straight in your core.

《 You looked sad. I told you, I will help. 》

It's so simple, really. A problem, an answer. No question asked, no buts, not ifs. Martín really isn't used to simple. But he likes it, somehow. He takes the glass, drinks almost everything on the spot. It's fresh and it runs through his body and he feels like his skin was burning up from the inside, and now he's something like a normally functioning human again.

《 ... Thanks. 》

He just answers, and Mirko just nods and turns around, walking right back where he came from.

《 Good night, big guy. 》

Martín adds. Helsinki turns his head and smiles, then opens the door and goes back to his post.

Looking at the empty glass, Martín asks himself is it's really that simple. Is that what having someone to rely on felt like? He was on the verge of just letting it all fall down again, and he probably looked so desperate Helsinki decided he had to do something about that. Someone looked at him, saw his pain, saw his struggle, and just like that let him feel like he was actually seen.

His mind goes back to Andrés. It always goes back to him, like a broken record playing the same song over and over again, even when no one wants to hear that anymore. Goes back to his voice, his smile, the way his eyes looked like he could always see everything.  
But he didn't, did he? He loved the way Martín lived for him. He loved Martín, for what it's worth. And he could see him, could see his value. He saw how desperate of recognition he was, and he gave him that, and Martín thought that single man giving him crumbs was his whole world.

He can't be mad at him. He stopped so much time ago, it was too hard to be mad at the single good thing in his life. But right now, he thinks he can grasp something, the feeling that for all the time they spent together, all the value Andrés gave to him, he still couldn't really see him for who he was.  
He thinks at the time spent together, and those years who were the only time in his life he felt like he belonged. He thinks at the way Andrés always orbited around him, touching him, looking at him the same way Martín did. And he knows, he always knew but now he really knows it was all a game for him.

Because Andrés was like that, the world was his canvas and all he did was play with his brush, leaving marks on people so deep he couldn't really understand how much. He was a predator playing with his food, a lion dancing around the littlest gazelle. And Martín always loved him for that, he loved being one of his favourite toys, loved the way he cared about him the most, like he was special, he was _wanted_.

  
He played that game every day. Played until there was nothing left to play, nothing he could put on the table anymore. And then Andrés left, not because he was tired, but because he thought it was the best for them. He couldn't see, couldn't grasp the depth of the cuts he left on Martín. He bled for him every day, he bled bright red and he never felt so alive. But then he left, and blood stopped spilling, and now there were only scars left.

Martín looked at the glass, again. And another voice whispered in his ear. It was so low he almost was scared of listening to it.

_Andrés was not the solution. Andrés was not your life._

And Martín hears that, and he's so scared of hearing. Because he just can't admit what he know it's true. He can't even think that simple truth, the simple fact that Andrés could never fix him. He just was part of the problem. The only one who could fix him was himself. And Andrés never really tried to make him see that.  
It wasn't his fault. Andrés just couldn't read people the right way. He was too above them, to far away from them to really see all the details. How can the sun possibly understand when it's burning your skin?

《 Sorry, Mr. Palermo...? Can I... go to the bathroom? 》

One of the women closer to him raises her and, and Martín scoffs a little. He stands up, grabs his rifle, and gestures her to follow him. The woman scrambles to get up faster and walks to him like she's afraid he can change his mind in the meantime. Maybe he actually can, he's not really sure.

《 Come. 》

He walks to the restrooms, and waits outside. The main hall is still guarded by that kid, Matías, so he doesn't really have to worry so much. Somehow, he's grateful for the distraction. He doesn't like going to deep in his mind, there where there are too many things he doesn't want to see.  
When she's ready, they go back to the hall, and he takes a moment to pick up his glass and put it back to his place, in the office to the right. Helsinki is still there, he's sleeping but he looks restless, like he's fighting to have those little moments of sleep before he wakes up again.  
Martín sees him. Sees the pain, again. And just like the first time, he just wants him to not suffer like he did.  
He goes to the counter grabs another glass, and pours fresh water in it. He walks to him and silently let's it in the table, near him, careful not to wake him up.  
He never was really good at really communicate with others. But he's a quick learner. And right a few minutes before, he learned a simple glass of water can really go a long way.

_« Surprise, surprise_   
_Couldn't find it in your eyes_   
_But I'm sure it's written all over my face_   
_Surprise, surprise_   
_Never something I could hide_   
_When I see we made it through another day »_


End file.
